


Logic Flaws

by JustAnotherWriter (N1ghtshade)



Series: The Artemis Code [2]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Abandonment, Android AU, Day 8, Gen, Whumptober 2020, android mac, android riley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:21:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26897377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N1ghtshade/pseuds/JustAnotherWriter
Summary: Mac is the best EOD android unit the army owns. But saving everyone else doesn’t mean he rates a place with the humans he works with. He’s just a tool, after all. And people are supposed to put tools away when they’re done using them.A continuation of my android AU “The Artemis Code”
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Series: The Artemis Code [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1962493
Comments: 21
Kudos: 48





	Logic Flaws

“Put him away for the night after you upload the data bank.”

Mac waits patiently while the uplink is enabled. It was a routine day, and the video file will show that he completed eight disarms. He automatically enables the selective upload setting, it filters out all but the actual disarming sessions, when his secondary processing software is enabled. It takes less time to uplink if the only thing being sent is the important video files. He knows that the longer it takes, the more impatient his new overwatch becomes.

Still, by the time all eight videos are sent, his overwatch is pacing and frustrated. When the small light on the uplink device glows green, he practically yanks it out of Mac’s shoulder port and then reaches around for the mechanical shutdown switch. 

Mac crumples to the floor immediately, and his overwatch curses. The man always forgets to finish the shutdown in sequence. First Mac is supposed to be placed in his storage bay for the uplink and shutdown, which he is, but then the system locks are put on to hold him upright, then first the physical motor movement and then the processors are disabled, and he’s hooked up to the solar generator so he’s ready for the morning. While he has solar charging panels built into his gear as well, that feed into his system throughout the day, it’s not enough to sustain continued activity. 

Usually his overwatch simple turns the motor system back on to allow Mac to stand up and set the system locks, but he doesn’t, tonight. Instead, he just forces Mac up into something of a standing position with brute strength, locks his limbs into the built in holders in the wall, and then plugs him in before walking away.

Mac wants to tell him that he didn’t shut down the processor, but he can’t. Motor shutdown also disables the vocal systems. Instead, he’s left slumped in his storage bay, staring at the properly stored, properly cared for unit across the aisle. Even though he can’t move, he can calculate, and he knows that the strain on the joints the position he’s in now is causing will make him stiffer and slower tomorrow. Which will in turn make his overwatch frustrated and short-tempered.

He wants Jack to come back. Jack was good to him, Jack always remembered the right way to handle the shutdown procedures. Jack never left him like this all night. Even when Jack didn’t really like him, and called him ‘tin man’, he was careful, he understood how valuable a tool Mac was.

_ “You’re a whole lot more than a tool, kid.”  _ His memory banks pull up Jack’s voice without his intent to search for it. Mac misses that voice. He begins replaying his recordings of the missions where Jack was with him. All except the last one. He doesn’t want to see that again. 

He knows why they don’t wipe his active logs after upload, those are important. His AI system adapts and learns from combining and processing all the different bomb runs he’s been on. But that also means he has all the terrible memories of when it went wrong.

There must be a glitch in his software somewhere, because sometimes when he starts working on a bomb, his memory banks will pull up the detailed recording of a similar one that went wrong. That sort of processing isn’t supposed to happen in the field. But in Mac’s case, it does. It’s over in nanoseconds, of course, he doesn’t get lost in what the Reals call ‘flashbacks’ for as long as they do. But he isn’t supposed to have them at all. His memory banks are only for information. 

He shouldn’t be afraid of what happens if a disarming goes wrong. He shouldn’t miss Jack. He has emotional code only for the fact that Reals find it disturbing when the Skins they work with look like humans but have no facial expression. He’s programmed to understand humans and respond in an appropriate manner, although no one has managed to perfect a code that understands sarcasm. Jack was the only one who found that amusing instead of annoying.

His memory banks aren’t supposed to be connected to his emotional processing software. None of the other units’ are. But it’s just another reason he’s wrong. Broken. Because somewhere in those crossed wires, his memories act just like the real experience. 

And right now, replaying Jack’s voice, Mac knows that if he was capable of crying, he would be doing it. 

“You’re sure they can’t see us?” Jack’s voice sounds glitchy now. Overlapping itself and wrong and...what if he’s malfunctioning again? Mac doesn’t want to be taken to the tech repair and torn open and have everyone sorting through his memories and his code. It feels so wrong when those people in the white coats with the sleek shiny tablets hook him up to all the screens and let his code spool out over them, pointing and arguing and changing things. He feels horrible and exposed when they do that, and the closest way he can explain it in terms the Reals understand is being naked. 

Mac’s always wondered what would happen if they made a mistake. Deleted or changed something and made him...not him anymore. He wonders how much code would have to change to do that. Is he the endless lines of commands and software and programming and data points? Or is he his memories? He doesn’t know.

“Mac?”

He really would be crying now if he could. Because the Jack in the recording is speaking at least with a five-second delay and Mac thinks two memories are playing at once, which isn’t ever supposed to happen. He’s glitching worse than ever and they’re going to take him away and this is why he isn’t supposed to be left on while he’s charging because the charge cycle always interferes with his processing circuits and the memory banks get jumbled and he can’t turn them off…

He can watch the whole logic cascade happening in real time as strings of code superimpose themselves on the memory playback. 

“Mac.”

The voice is alone now. Mac’s processing systems have gone offline, trying to protect themselves from a total cascade malfunction, but sensory intake is still running.

“Mac? Damn it, they left him on while he was charging. What moron did they give him to? Riley, can you…”

There’s a brief flicker of a second intelligence brushing up against his in the network as the system begins to reboot. Someone’s plugged another android in. They do that sometimes when an EOD unit is too destroyed to salvage. Uploading the memories and programming into a new unit or one with minimal use. But with his amount of artificial synapses and accumulated memory banks, it’s risky, they can’t upload a second AI into his now.

The cascade is starting again. But now, alongside it, there’s lines of a pale blue code that contrast with his familiar green tint.

**Hello Mac. I’m Riley. I’m here to get you out.**

**Cannot upload second AI. Crash imminent.**

**I’m not uploading. Just mitigating damage from processing failure.**

“Do you know how bad it is yet?”

Now Mac knows there’s a really, really major malfunction. Because Jack isn’t here, not really, so Mac shouldn’t be able to match his voice print to what his audio sensors are picking up. He switches from memory replay to visual awareness, and notices two people in front of him. One is standing still, eyes closed, and he can see a military jacket half pushed back to reveal a shoulder port with a plug extending from it to him. The other AI that’s currently sifting through the error code thrown by the cascade failure and looking for the problem.

But the other figure…

Mac doesn’t know how he broke down badly enough to get his memory banks mixed up with his recognition software. 

**Logic loop trigger detected. Video playback.**

Then the actual voice speaks. “Jack, he thinks you’re not here.”

Mac wonders if he’s about to cascade again. Then he feels Jack’s hand on his, tapping gently. Jack developed that method of communicating things he didn’t want to show up in the logs, tapping Morse code because sensation didn't get recorded like audio and video and sent on to the ‘top brass’ as he called it.

REALLY HERE. COME TO GET YOU.

It’s not a glitch. Jack is here. 

**Joy. Emotional Code 6758.**

“Riley, get him out of there.” The other android rolls up her sleeve, exposing the connection port on her wrist, and plugs into the scanner system. In a few seconds, the lights on Mac’s locked restraints turn green, and the latches release and he collapses into a heap. 

Jack reaches for him, and pulls him in close. “Hey kiddo. We got you. It’s gonna be okay.”

And when Jack’s clumsy hug hits the switch that brings Mac’s motor movement back online, he carefully reaches out and hugs the man back.

**Mimicry subroutine enabled. Comfort action.**


End file.
